Amiss
by carpenarem
Summary: When the one who's spent every waking moment of their life mocking your family out of nowhere comes to a full stop, you're supposed to feel relieved. Right? ScoRose. In all the ways that have never crossed your mind.
1. Riddikulus

**Author's Notes: **I was... inspired. By a most curious sighting. Anyhow, hope you will enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **Nope, not mine. Penultimate character introduced or not, Scorpius is still Rowling's. Along with the host of other familiar people/concepts soon to be introduced - or more accurately- re-introduced.

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><p>"Riddikulus."<p>

The two ladies stop in the middle of their tea drinking and look over at me. The one in the putrid green dress robes that may have been fashionable (not to mention less deteriorated) an era ago shoots a flirtatious look my way, and says, "Scorpius, looking ever so dashing as always!"

Her companion merely giggles. It's pretty disturbing considering both are old enough to be my grandmothers, but suppose they can't help their cringe-worthy attractions any more than I can. After all, I did inherit the Malfoy good looks.

With an inward sigh, I give them the best smile I can muster, and prepare to deliver my customary reply. Followed by a standard excuse to escape further small-talk and uncomfortable staring with myself as the violated party.

"And the pair of you as well, lovely complexions that positively radiate with health! Would love to stay and chat, but there's a foot long Charms essay I've got to get started on."

I arrange my features into a dejected expression, and put on a semi-pout to complete the effect.

"Oh, don't worry about it! We have plenty of time, not going anywhere, are we now?" Grandmum one sharply jabs grandmum two, who is still dreamily gazing at me. I supress my urge to laugh, as I find the two ever so amusing.

She seems to regain her demeanour, and nods in agreement. "You'd better be going then, can't have our intelligent lad losing the top spot in his studies!" The portrait swings open, and I stride into the Heads Common Room.

It's handsomely decorated, green and blue, and bears a long history of housing the two most responsible, respectable, and exemplary students of the seventh year. A small twinge of pride flutters inside me, as I remember how proud my father was, when I, not Albus Potter, but Scorpius Malfoy, earned this coveted position fair and square. Through hard work and sheer talent, naturally, I excelled at everything.

The poor bloke didn't even stand a chance. Odd thing is, he's awfully shy. Doesn't seem to be very ambitious, and constantly seems to be trying to blend in. Too bad he's the son of the "boy who lived." Honestly, I don't get it. If I was him, I'd be flaunting it, because what could be better than being loved by everyone because of your dad? That's certainly an obstacle less to overcome. Anyhow, his loss.

I've walked a mere 10 paces when I lose my train of thought. It's then, that I suddenly realize – something is amiss.

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><p><em>Any guesses? Please share them with me in the reviews. Closest gets a virtual cookie! White chocolate macadamia, no less. :) And all shall be revealed soon enough. :) <em>


	2. Set in Motion

**Author's Notes: **Heehee. Had some time on my hands after waking up super early today to get into Pottermore!

**Disclaimer: **The world of Potter is as always, Rowling's. Unless she decides to surreptitiously give me the rights for everything this Christmas. Unlikely... but one can hope.

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><p>You see, though I am brilliant through and through, being the latest in the ultra-exclusive Malfoy line and all that, my privileges end at my own sleeping quarters. In accordance with the twisted traditions of Hogwarts, I share the Common Room with none other than the head girl.<p>

I truly believe that this is a sadistic practice passed down the generations, forcing one male and one female student at the peak of hormonal instability to go about their daily business in such close vicinity, while expecting nothing more than 'normal' behaviour. For any other Heads, this may have resulted in problems. According to the infamous instance when, after worried professors checked the room after both head girl and head boy didn't show up to classes, and found them fully going at it.

Of course I, Scorpius, am far above such barbarism. My civilized upbringings have taught me to admire from afar. Though I do have a couple of tricks up my sleeve, for when particularly attractive witches throw themselves at me. And trust me—there are quite a plenty.

There's also the other main, quite obvious reason why the chances of the current heads being caught in a compromising situation are zero to none. That reason is currently sitting on the comfortable armchair in front of the fire.

I retrace my steps backwards to the door, and slowly walk by the chair again, clearly emphasizing each step.

I end up in the exact location where I had first noticed something was different.

It was as I suspected. For the first time in the history of never, Rose Weasley has _not _insulted me when presented with a clear opportunity. In fact, she hasn't even looked up from the page of _Hogwarts: A History _that she is currently scanning.

How very curious.

I retreat to make a final confirmation that the world has flipped on its axis. Passing by the armchair again, I am just about to start stamping my feet on the wooden surface when she finally acknowledges me.

"Decided the mental capacity of a ferret was too overwhelming and wanted to try goldfish? I really couldn't care less if you wanted to walk in a circle for the rest of your life, but do it somewhere else, would you? I'm trying to read here."

And that was it. Other than the slight jab, absolutely nothing else. None of the usual bashing of my family, no condescending glare, and moreover, no routine hair criticism. For a moment, I am tempted to bring up that goldfish actually have a three-month memory span and are quite intelligent creatures, in order to provoke some kind of more typical reaction.

Instead, I close my slightly agape mouth, and enter my room to ponder this newest development in silence.

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><p>The door swings shut with a latching sound, and I place the book on the table and let out a relieved sigh.<p>

Merlin, what was wrong with me? I'd woken up this morning at the crack of dawn, like always, and after my vigorous workout routine consisting of two laps around The Lake and some morning flying, engaged in a steaming hot shower. I stepped in front of the mirror, and proceeded to practice my variety of dirty looks. Condescending glare. Check! Haughty nonchalance. Check! Depreciative scoff. Check! I stared at myself, and repeated my daily mantra thrice in my head. _Defeat Scorpius Malfoy. Defeat Scorpius Malfoy. Defeat Scorpius Malfoy._

Before we continue with anything else, I'd like to mention that I am not mental or anything. Just that as the daughter of war heroes extraordinaire Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, I have a certain role to fulfil. According one of mum's numerous self-help books (which I've really taken to heart), to achieve a goal, you need to be ambitious, have a plan, and me able to state your goal very clearly. From the moment when Scorpius sodding Malfoy smirked at me for the first time at King's Cross, I've made it my life's ambition to defeat the swarmy git.

I'd get revenge for all the times his family made mine miserable, and make a name for myself as the perfect daughter. After all, I did inherit the Granger brains and the Weasley love of Quidditch. What better use then to let a Malfoy know who he was dealing with?

It seemed a fantastic idea at the time. So for the last six years, I've worked hard, and really let my natural brilliance shine. I fully expect to be minister of magic within ten years, and my professors and family have 'utter faith and confidence in me no matter what I do.' There is just one little bump in my master plan.

A particularly annoying platinum-blond haired bump by the name of Scorpius Malfoy. Who just happened to be my common room-mate. And arch-nemesis. Thing is, anything I do, he does better. It's not an easy feat, and it's even worse when he's the one that stands in my way in everything I do. It doesn't help that he's friendly with everyone, or that the professors love him just as much as they love me. Sometimes more.

Sometimes, I feel as if I am the only one who sees through his façade. He's obviously a power-hungry manipulative and scheming arse who knows how to get what he wants. I've got to hand it to him—overcoming prejudice because of his dad's death eater associations? Takes careful behaviour and constant following up. Nothing he couldn't achieve without the bribery and lessons in sucking-up courtesy of Draco Malfoy. After all, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

So anyhow. As I repeated my mantra, the one that usually made me feel confident and empowered, something seemed… off. I whispered the words to see if there would be a difference. I spoke louder. Practically shouted. DEFEAT SCORPIUS MALFOY!

Nothing.

The familiar assuring feeling I kept waiting to wash over me did not come. I tried it out a couple more times. Emphasizing tones and trying to feel that spark, to feel anything at all. _De**feat** **Scor**pius **Mal**foy._

I threw some contempt into it. Spoke with a drawl. Threw in some expletives.

Nothing.

I felt my forehead, to see if I was feeling sick. The temperature was normal. Not knowing what to do, I walked into the common room and took a spot in my favourite armchair. I cracked open _Hogwarts: A History, _and hoped that some light reading would bring me back to normal.

Half an hour later, I found myself _not _improved, twitching uncomfortably, and unable to focus on any of the swimming lines in front of me. As I turned the page, the common room door opened. And in walked the person causing me all my anxiety.

He walked right past me, presumably from his morning run, seemingly lost in thought. I continued to feign reading the words that held no meaning whatsoever. I was starting to feel slightly faint, from holding my breath (which I had no idea I was doing at the moment), and was hoping he'd quickly retreat to his room so I could sort out this dilemma in peace.

Of course, that was the moment when he decided to repeat everything that had happened in the last 2 minutes over again. In agonizingly slow-motion. And pausing right beside me, I felt his curious stare boring into the side of my head as I fought an internal battle not to lose my focus. My usual irritation, which would have shown its face by now, was conveniently and evidentially not present. Instead, I once again felt that odd sensation.

By which I meant I felt not disgust, not contempt, but absolutely nothing at all.

But I couldn't let on my weakness, and so I began to rack my mind for possible insults.

_Gotten some work done with your face? Looking particularly ferrety today from this angle. _

_Felt any incestuous stirrings for your mother lately?_

_I suppose your stupid hair does serve one purpose—covering your stupid face._

My heart just wasn't in it. Everything sounded repetitive and feeble, and so I mustered up what was left of my energy and delivered a line about goldfish. It seemed to do the trick, as he finally entered his room and left me alone.

Which brings me back to now. Sitting on the floor, I realize the seriousness of this situation. This is disastrous. Completely catastrophic.

Could it be, that I, Rose Weasley, have lost my touch?


	3. Can't be!

**Author's Notes: **Went out earlier, so today's update is a bit shorter. Hope you like!

**Disclaimer: **Not Christmas yet. Not mine yet. It's still all yours, Jo!

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><p><em>No. Absolutely cannot be. The idea just doesn't work…<em>

It's been a good half hour sitting on by bed, but I am still completely lost as to the reason for Weasley's _lack _of outburst earlier. It's ridiculous, really. On such a beautiful weekend morning, without assignments, no less, I am not enjoying the beautiful weather. Not taking up any of the _fantastic_ offers that Nott said he'd hook me up with (no-strings-attached, if you get the gist of what I'm saying). Not even doing something worthwhile such as reading ahead! Or colour-coding my closet.

Scratch that.

Zabini would never, I repeat, never let me live it down if he caught me doing that. Great chap, don't get me wrong, just differences when it comes down to the way we organize ourselves, I guess. For me, it's nice to know that amidst all the chaos outside of these doors, at least I have control over my belongings. Pretty ironic because I consider myself pretty laid back, but somehow, I always revert to order and tidiness.

Speaking of chaos, there're a couple of rational explanations for Weasley's odd behaviour that I've come up with so far.

The first is that perhaps she's coming down with a bad case of Loser's Lurgy. I've never personally had it, nor has anyone that I've heard of. But Leia Lovegood swears it exists. That one's pretty, but a little damaged in the head, I reckon. The splitting image fo her mother, following in her footsteps, always modelling the most current line of Lovegood accessories, and taking her last name and all. Father's mentioned Luna Lovegood a couple of times (apparently they went to school together), and she's always come across as sort of crazy to me.

Though, the disease, Lovegood claims to "cause one to perform their activities poorly, or to lose", _would _justify Weasley's loss of her usual knack of making me feel like shit.

And for being outperformed last week in Potions. Then again, she hasn't been able to do better than me in anything for the last six years. (Not counting holding our familial grudge. Which doesn't really count, because I never have participated in such a childish act. But anyway.) Six years is a bit long to be sick, isn't it? Especially with something that hasn't been officially recognized by St. Mungo's. And that Miss Pomfrey (brilliant daughter of the original matron of the hospital wing) can't fix? Highly unlikely.

So, moving on. My second thought was that maybe she's gone completely insane. Trying hard all her life but ending up second best to me must be pretty infuriating. Even more so, because she's got to live up to the expectations of being the eldest daughter of only the most intelligent and noble war heroes Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley.

I can sort of see why she despises me so much.

_But _that doesn't excuse the way she acts. Honestly, always looking down on me and acting as if I'm beneath her? Newsflash. It gets old. And it's not my fault that I happen to do well too. Sure, I'm endowed, but I've had to work hard to get where I am. Not everyone gets everything handed to them on a silver platter. Just because I did get a dish doesn't change anything. Who does she think she is?

The more I think about all the prejudiced things she's said to my face the more enraged I get. Half the time, her remarks don't even make sense. Like the goldfish comment earlier.

But how come I'm always rendered speechless? And can't think of any good retort other than walking away?

I'm pathetic. Can't even defend myself from a Weasley. The only thing that makes me feel slightly better is that she seems to take it as extreme sign of disrespect when I leave, and it never fails to get _her _enraged. Well, if she was able to piece together that sorry excuse for an insult earlier, I guess insanity is out of the question.

Which leaves me with the following options: A) Rose Weasley has finally found (or stolen, more like) a heart and is feeling remorse after she realizes how terribly and wrongfully her behaviour towards me has been. B) Rose Weasley has found a new victim to unleash her torments and full vindictive glory on. Or, C) Undetermined.

I carefully analyse and consider each of these. Should I even bother with A)? From the moment I first tried any attempts at civility by giving her a cautious smile at King's Cross in First Year, I was repaid with nothing but rebuke and hatred. She's made my life terrible for the last six years, so why should she stop now?

As for B), Weasley is, believe it or not, popular and quite _well-liked_ even by most at Hogwarts. Either people are all cowering in fear because of who she is, or she's actually pleasant to everyone else _but_ me. There are no other Malfoys, and she seems to be very into the whole inter-house unity thing. (And so am I. As head boy in "a new era of acceptance", I'm sort of forced to promote the whole thing.) Then again, after _her_ house, the rest of the lot all seem friendly compared.

The logical conclusion I come up with is that I obviously haven't come up with one yet. A solid justification for this, that is. No worries, though. I will figure out what's going on with Weasley, all in due course. Can't let my intelligence and wit go to waste.

I am a Ravenclaw, after all.

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><p><em>Didn't see that one coming, eh? ;) Promise you'll get some Rose, and hope fully some interaction in the next chapter. <em>_But for now, I'm having a blast in the head of Scorpius. It's fun, you should try it sometime! :D_

_Review please. Changed my style a bit this time, and I hope I didn't overdo it! Let me know. Speak now, or forever hold your peace._


	4. Knightly?

**Author's Notes: **Updates are to be less frequent from now on, as I'm spending what's left of my summer with a bunch of the most _delightful _children.[ /sarcasm] Will try to continue to update weekly, so please keep reading!

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter Series, how I wish thou were mine! Alas, thou art the sole property of J.K. Rowling, so my wishes shall lie in mortal peril. ;)

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><p>Don't ask me why I'm covered, from head to toe, in this oversized suit of armour.<p>

Please, just don't.

Yes, I know how completely fetching I must be, stuffed in here like the gnome on top of the Christmas tree that Uncle George secretly pointed out to me one year. I laughed then, because he looked so utterly comical in that tutu, and oh, don't get me started on his expression. Mum did not find it very amusing, and pulled my favourite uncle aside for a little "talk." After they did not emerge for an hour, Dad had to go in and drag her out.

Now, in the same position, I'm having second thoughts. The poor thing must have been miserable, not being able to move, and knowing that it was susceptible in full public view. Given that I'm not bald, potato-like, nor hairy, and that nobody knows I'm in here (I hope), I'm a bit better off. But if it would get me out of this predicament, I would swear off terrorizing gnomes forever! I'd even share my room with them.

Devote the rest of my life to protecting their rights.

I hold back the urge to laugh at that one. Reminds me of a little something called S.P.E.W. It was one of my mother's greatest achievements, but I sometimes think that the whole thing is a little but ridiculous. I don't mention it to her, though. She's very proud of it, and even I'm not _that _cruel. Plus, I'd probably be 80 before I stop getting lectured on how they really aren't that different from us. Followed by an earful of "a furiously brave friend" that she used to know, whom without, "none of us would be here today." Nothing against the garden devoted to _Dobby_ at Aunt Fleur's. It's quite beautiful, really.

Anyhow. So what am I doing in this not-exactly-comfortable get-up? _Obviously playing hide-and-go seek with Hugo. _Bit old for that now. Actually, I'm playing the avoidance game. You know, the one where you stop at absolutely nothing to evade that one person who you don't want to talk to, or even see?

Coming from the largest family known to wizard-kind, it's very useful at family functions, especially when on the radar of a particularly nosy cousin-a trillion times removed, who wants to know everything about life at Hogwarts. Not bragging or anything, but I'm pretty good at it. Had a lot of practice, especially during my famed two-week marathon back in first year.

When the sorting hat placed me in Slytherin, I was scared shitless. I knew dad would go ballistic, and no matter what he said after, always a bit disappointed in me. How I ended up in the house is a mystery, mum being muggle-born, and dad a proud blood traitor. I was expecting the worst of both worlds.

Everyone else I knew was in Gryffindor, as expected, and I didn't want to hear what they had to say about it. It would be the start of conversations I could not follow, house rivalry during classes and Quidditch, and being excluded from all the fun and games. Or so my daft 11-year-old self thought.

I went completely undetected for those two whole weeks, disappearing from view right after classes. I didn't eat meals with everyone else, instead enlisting the help of the kitchen for on-the-go snacks, and making late night visits when I was particularly hungry. It was then that I picked up my habit of waking up at the crack of dawn, and going to sleep early.

James, my sole confidante at the time, gave me the famed Marauder's Map to help. Of course, we also made an Unbreakable Vow so I could be sure that he wouldn't tell anyone of my intentions. I did everything I could to stay out of contact with not only my family, but my housemates and dorm mates.

Looking back, they must have thought I was a bit of a freak.

It took a month of letters, and two visits from both mum and dad to get me to fully talk to anyone again. They told me that they loved me no matter what, and even came up with lists of all the perks of being a Slytherin. What really changed my mind was when dad secretly visited me for a third time (an instance that I'm never to mention to mother), and personally told me that it didn't matter what I was. Even if I were a Hufflepuff (!), I'd still be his little Rosie.

Through the entire debacle, I didn't shed a single tear. It probably helped that Albus also got himself landed in the house. We were the first Weasleys ever _not _in the house of scarlet and gold. And I've never looked back.

There was a time when I'd really wanted to be a Gryffindor, just to fit in. Or even a Ravenclaw, because I thought it was the best place for me. Even a Hufflepuff, I told myself, anything but Slytherin. Now, I'm starting to understand why I was put here.

I'm quite ambitious and cunning. Though I don't mind spending time with friends, being born into a large family made me appreciate time alone a lot more. I don't really like being around lots of people, so I have no idea how I would have handled all the wild and constant partying that the Gryffindors seem to be doing. When it comes to stressful situations, I tend to fall back, retreat, or hide, instead of stepping up and just dealing with it, like Lily might.

And that, of course, is why I'm here. Not because I have an affinity for making a fool of myself, nor a love for dust-filled, rusty metal artefacts. Instead, I'm at the end of my rope, almost to the point going absolutely nutters in my quest to avoid Malfoy.

It's been a week since some unseen force swooped down and robbed me of my life's meaning up until this point (or should I say, six and a half days ago). Yes, it's been _that _long since Rose Weasley has fed the self-righteous prick a satisfying and appropriate line. I feel unsettled and jittery, and my performance at practice and classes are suffering accordingly. How could it be that I've got completely no urge to laugh, taunt, gibe, or even defeat the wolf in sheep's clothing, Malfoy?

Let's face it – I'm a shame to the Weasley name.

So of course, I'm doing what I do best. Hiding. How _pathetic. _But oh-so-very effective. Usually. My schedule is quite rigorous, so waking up, sleeping, studying, and eating at opposite hours to him should have been a breeze. Unfortunately for me, he seems to push himself just as much as I do, and so wakes early, and sleeps late. But I'm adaptable. So of course, I'm back to doing everything at odd hours, and Al reckons I've really lost it this time. He thinks it's because I got an E on my Charms practical, not the O I was hoping for. That's really the least of my worries now.

_Armour and Gargoyles: A guide to the convenient hiding places of Hogwarts._ I could write a book on the numerous nooks and crannies in the castle, but I don't think that I would live up to the legacy of the Marauders if I gave all their secrets away.

Well, it finally sounds like Scorpius and his cronies have left the vicinity. I can't see if the coast is clear because the stupid helmet is way too big for my head. I try removing the helmet, and lo-and-behold…the blasted thing is stuck. Just my luck. I can't exactly reach my wand, which I wisely stashed in my bag, which I threw behind the pillar behind me, or was it in front…or to the side? Not being able to see is really starting to get annoying.

I jump around as quietly as I possibly can (meaning that I make one hell of a ruckus clanging around in the constricting death trap), and pull with all my strength at the heavy iron mass.

Miraculously, it flies off, across the corridor, and lands with a resounding _crash_ on the ground.

But I do not get to find out where it lands, because as my eyes adjust to the light, all I can see is the smirking face of one very amused looking Scorpius Malfoy.

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><p>Well? Tell me what you think. Please. It's all I'll have as I deal with the screaming, crying, ball-throwing kids as they cling on to my legs and refuse to let go.<p>

Have a heart, review! Thank you. :D


	5. You've got to be kidding me

**Author's Notes: **Sorry for the wait! Kid-sitting duties are finally over, so hopefully more time to write! I am a bit of a perfectionist, so it takes me a lot of time to write a little bit. Only the best gets posted for you guys! No guarantees though. :3

**Disclaimer: **It's simple algebra, really. Carpenarem ≠ J.K. Rowling. Not mine, eh? :D

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><p>Tomatoes. I've detested the red fruit my entire life, so it's funny how as Weasley's cheeks continue to redden into ever more unflattering shades, they're all I can think about. I'm not a heartless bastard, I swear it. To this day, I've never even picked a fight with her. But of all the times I've seen her riled up, embarrassed, or upset, this is really a sight to behold.<p>

So of course, I choose this exact moment to do the single most stupid thing possible. Burst out laughing.

Once I start, it's difficult to stop. I mean, she looks unequivocally farcical. Side-splittingly outrageous. Eccentric indeed. You may argue that I'm being excessively cruel, or just downright blasé. In my defence, there is no way you could be in this situation and keep a straight face.

After all, it isn't every day that one sees _the_ Rose Weasley trotting around covered head to toe in a suit of rusted armour. In fact, the likeliness of such an event is close to never. Out of the ordinary. This entire week has been a pleasant sort of different, calming, even.

Zero, I repeat, zero occurrences of running into the girl, no one-sided verbal wars, not even a single signature death glare sent my way. The ones that you can feel boring into you without having to look, even across the classroom. Or great hall.

I had a funny feeling that the peace wouldn't hold for long, even as I left dinner from said hall with some enthusiastic house mates who wanted to talk Quidditch. We took a detour through a fifth floor corridor walking back to Ravenclaw tower, and I was politely listening to Rich Brocklehurst and Geoff McDougal's heated debate on whether or not Slytherin's new team would be competition to worry about this year.

Zabini had long since left for the common room, as he was still bitter at being dropped from the line-up in a last minute decision two days ago, and was in no mood to listen. As we made our way down the passageway, I vaguely registered a suit of armour that I didn't remember being there. Didn't think much of it; because they do move around the castle.

We turned a corner, and that's when loud clanking sounds began. Determined to get down to the bottom of things, I sent the two boys back to the dorms, and did what any good head boy would do. Followed the noise.

What I _didn't _expect was to see the suit of armour from earlier careening across the hallway, crashing into the walls and altogether behaving very curiously uncoordinated. Either Peeves up to his usual tricks (unlikely, as he was terrorizing Filch at last check), the result of a magical mishap (particularly reckless batch of first years), or… with a person inside that couldn't see very well.

My guess was confirmed when the suit of armour pried its partially-stuck, helmet off, whisking it a good 10 metres. But of course, the biggest shock was when the ruckus-causing culprit turned out to be Rose Weasley.

Once again, the absurdity of the predicament hits, and sends me into another round of uncontrollable laughter. When I am finally able to stop, I pick myself off the floor and chance a look at Weasley.

She's still in the get-up. And her face is still red. But what's changed is that instead of the embarrassment (mortification? shame?) of less than a minute prior, she is now channelling rage.

The look she gives me is murderous.

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><p>How dare he.<p>

Just stand there, idly _laughing _at what I suppose must be a most _entertaining _sight. Me. In the course of a week, I have lost my willpower, my sole purpose of waking every morning. The intentions of putting the latest addition of the Malfoy line and his family in their rightful place once and for all, obviously. In the course of five minutes, I have lost the one thing I've kept a tighter hold on than anything for seventeen years.

Something that I have risked everything to protect. I have lied, put up fronts, pretended on many occasions to be somebody I'm not. True to my cause, I've always carefully thought about the next step, what to do to be perceived in the most beneficial light, and evaded many a faux pas on principle.

It is a twisted sort of fitting that Malfoy, Scorpius ever-present-obstacle-to-tackle Malfoy is the one to strip me of my _beloved _dignity in one clean swipe. Without even lifting a single finger.

I know I can be overdramatic, and that the constant perfection and acknowledgement I seek evidence plenty of vanity. That I do not deny. However, the one person who is allowed to know this, to see me for what I truly am is myself.

I have reason to be irked, to be in rage because this is simply not the way things are supposed to work. This year should have been my year, and finally exposing Malfoy's hidden agenda (I know he has one; nobody is that great) would be my crowning glory. To think, the whole reason I got in this mess in the first place was because I was trying to avoid the cause of my mid-life crisis (come thirty years early?) and trigger of my emotional frustration.

Instead, he is the one with the upper hand, who catches me in a moment of unguarded blunder. The unfair irony of it all.

So seething, I quip, "Just as expected. You finally shed your 'sympathetic' demeanour and show some true colours. How is it? Inconsideration and boorishness living up to your expectations?"

He seems taken aback by my angry tone.

"Apologies, I didn't mean to—"

"Offend?" I cut him off. I deliver the best dirty look I can pull off, and restrain the urge to kick, as it would be awfully hard not to trip over my feet in this heavy attire.

"A bit late for that, isn't it?" I note a moment of hesitation and a flicker in his eyes before –

"Okay, if I upset you in any way, I _am _sorry." Hm. He sounds and looks completely sincere. Nice try. I know exactly what's going on inside that calculating mind of his. And right on cue –

"_But, _there is no reason for you to make those irrational and insulting comments. I was minding my own business, and heard odd sounds coming from this direction. Doing my head duties, I was led to you, who for some unknown reason, was making a cacophony and bouncing off the walls in a suit of armour. If anything, you are the one that should be explaining yourself. Not me. Furthermore, I simply laughed because you looked funny. Not everybody is two-faced. You really shouldn't and needn't constantly think the worst of everyone."

Ha. Good one. Now the prick is trying reverse psychology on me. As if I don't already know what he's up to. Still, I have no choice but to lower my defenses, because I want to get out of this uncomfortable situation as soon as possible.

"Save your sanctimoniousness for a thicker audience, Malfoy. If you haven't noticed yet, I'm in a bit of a fix right now. So would you _please _(I almost choke in disbelief that I am asking him for help) perform your _head duties_ and maybe, I don't know, get this off of me?"

He pauses for a moment, thinking. I once again gesture to the ancient defense garb I'm sporting, in case he still can't wrap his (demented) head around what I'm talking about.

He blinks. "Of course." A swish of his wand. "_Evanesco._" My constraints disappear, and without looking at him, I scan the proximity for my hastily thrown possessions from earlier. It is three minutes of intense silence and awkwardness, before I locate my book bag and wand behind a withering hall plant.

I thank the higher powers, and prepare to stalk off for more private contemplation of the matter before the situation can worsen.

Then – "Weasley, wait."

You've _got _to be kidding me.

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><p>Oooooooh. Curious as to what will happen next? Me too. Haven't written it yet, so who knows? Leave a review, and maybe your idea will be taken into consideration... xD<p> 


	6. Tickle the sleeping dragon

**Author's Notes: **Three things I need your help with, readers:

1) Please tell me truthfully, does anyone find my Rose or Scor slightly bipolar? I'm in varying moods between the times that I write, and so the tone of each chapter varies. Does this give my characters more dimension and realism, or simply come off as awkward and hard to follow?

2) Along with the first point, this story was originally intended to be very humorous and light-hearted, but somewhere along the way, became quite a bit more serious. Should I change the genre, in order not to mislead? Or is it alright the way it is?

3) I'll be going to Cuba this Friday for a week-long vacation. Not sure if I'll be able to update there, so please bear with me and kindly continue reading upon my return. I promise to post as long as I can.

**Disclaimer: **(to the tune of Row, Row, Row Your Boat) Rowling's Harry Potter universe is fine; it's pretty darn awesome and magical but none of it is mine. (Creativity, woohoo!)

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><p>Even before the words are out of my mouth, I know they are a bad idea.<p>

She freezes in her tracks, and spins around with a glower.

"What."

_This would be a very good time to end the conversation, _I tell myself. _Unwanted outcomes can be avoided if I stop now. _The rest of me does not seem to agree, and I hear myself asking in a apprehensive drawl, "Just what exactly were you doing, wearing that?"

I want to slap myself. My adamant curiosity can really choose the worst times to show its face. Whoever said 'never tickle a sleeping dragon' would probably buy them by the nestful than provoke the wrath of Weasley.

A few seconds pass. Her face is completely unreadable, as she seems to internally contemplate what to say next.

Finally, she opens her mouth, and in an icy tone that my grandfather would commend, "That is entirely _none _of your business, _Malfoy._" She spits my name in two syllables of disdain, and moves to leave.

"I wonder if McGonagall would feel the same way."

I have no idea where my sudden burst of courageousness comes from, but it is gone almost as quickly. In this one chance encounter, I've already spoken more with the she-devil than in three years. Moreover, Scorpius Malfoy does _not _do blackmail.

I've cursed her to the pits of hell in my mind, yes. And sometimes, after a particularly aggravating attack, I have wished some not-so-nice things upon her. But blackmail? Never. It is something could bring far more trouble than its worth. Even more so because of all the complications that come with being the two people we happen to be.

She seems to be thinking the same thing. After a very long moment, she appears to decide that I'm not worth it, and stalks off without another word.

This time, I let her.

In the following silence, I am left in a jumble of confusion. I let myself ponder though a thick mess of thoughts.

Since when did I ever lower myself to Weasley's level? Sure, I childishly responded to her dirt-dishing back in first and second year. I was horrified by her impertinent remarks about the one person I looked up to more than anybody else in the world.

After finding out the truth behind why the slight mention of my name rendered disgusted looks, and listening to Draco Malfoy the man himself ashamedly admit his past mistakes, that changed.

By fourth year, I knew better than to get in any Weasley or Potter's way. Especially Rose Weasley. I didn't talk to her, didn't seek her out, and basically tried to stay as far away from her as possible. I avoided her like dragonpox.

Instead, I dwelled on my mother's words, how I shouldn't let prejudice and family history stand in the way of happiness. I tried hard at everything I did, and found that I had a knack for quick learning. Surprisingly, I even outshone Rose.

It took a lot of effort, but I did gain the trust and admiration of peers and professors. Even the Potter and Weasley clans opened up to me, and I discovered that they were happy to put aside grudges and reciprocate the respect I treated them with.

Well, all of them except one. Rose Weasley had always been uncharacteristically cold to me, more so than anyone else. I think it was when she heard that I had asked Lily to the Christmas Ball in fifth year that all hell broke loose.

I vividly remember the screeched conversation in which she warned me to stay away from her family, and threatened to do a number of excruciatingly painful things to me if I didn't. Needless to say, the relationship didn't work out (but we're secretly still good friends, amicable girl that Lily is). Since then, Weasley has doubled all efforts to expose me for my "true manipulative, evil, son-of-a-death eater" self.

It's not that bad, most of the time. At least, Zabini and I often have a good laugh over her antics. He and Nott the only ones who can truly understand the scorn and ridicule others impose upon us because of what our fathers did.

It's unavoidable, and there's no use in self-pity. It's funny, how the three of us ended up in such similar situations. Maximilian Nott, Domenico Zabini, and Scorpius Malfoy, the three sons of wizard folk with questionable loyalties, bonded over being disgraces for not entering the Slytherin house, as well as laughably extravagant first names.

Nott had it the worst, because while Dom and I were granted leniency for our cleverness, his parents flat out refused to acknowledge their Hufflepuff son. To this day, they don't see eye to eye, and he spends summers and holiday breaks alternating between Zabini's or mine.

We make the best of what we can. Max will laugh it off and act like Nott Sr.'s latest rejection in the Daily Prophet doesn't bother him, but I know that deep down he's hoping they'll come around someday.

Compared to him, I really consider myself lucky that father got his act together for my sake. After the war, many of the oldest wizarding families allied with Voldemort banded together and upheld their elitist beliefs.

My father didn't want me to go through what he did, and so instead made many generous donations in hopes of lessening the impact on me. Much to grandfather Lucius' dismay, he _gave away _our manor, and reinvented his outlook on blood status.

It is not without sacrifices that many now look up to me as, so eloquently put by two of my Gryffindor fangirls, "the man." Still, every now and then, I feel a need to prove myself in order to maintain (and maybe one day fully restore) – the reputation of the Malfoy namesake.

Before I can do that, I'll need to deal with one wildcard that could send everything crashing down at any time.

I've got to formulate a plan.

And I'll need all the help I can get.

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><p><em>A penny (er…virtual cookie) for your thoughts? Sorry in advance to Ms. La Rue for not incorporating as much drama as you may have liked. Just hold on a bit longer, for the drama is coming. And when it rains, it pours.<em>

_Just a side note; I'd like to point out that I didn't try to make Rose seem excessively bitchy. She's supposed to sound spiteful, and maybe a tad selfish. Please keep in mind that there is always a reason for the way people are the way they are (I hope)._


	7. Unhelpful Deliberations

**Author's Notes: **Had a wonderful time in Cuba, thanks! School started for me today, so I don't know when I'll have the time to update next. this chapter's a bit longer, so hopefully that will satisfy for now.

**Disclaimer: **No time for wittiness, as I must get my beauty sleep. Simply put, Harry Potter is Rowling's sole property, yadda yadda yadda. Hm. I don't know about the separate rights of Warner Bros. though...

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><p><em>Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. <em>

The cool autumn air fills my lungs as I huff and puff along the edge of the lake. A lovely breeze wicks the beads of sweat away from my forehead, and I sink into the familiar rhythm of my morning jog.

The only thing on my mind is the upcoming Slytherin vs. Ravenclaw game, which I'm determined we'll finally win this year. Rhett confessed to me in private the other day that he had a whole new set of tricks up his sleeve to guarantee us the cup. I'm glad that our captain this year is somebody with his head screwed on tightly who, understandably after last year's crushing defeat, would do anything to win.

When I hinted that perhaps we should hold more intense practices, he merely chuckled and said that the rest of the team might not agree. They obviously don't want this as much as I do.

Pansies, the whole lot of them.

Nonetheless, I'm mentally and physically preparing myself so that when the time is right, I'll knock Malfoy, and the undeserving Ravenclaw team off their high brooms, and end their streak of consecutive titles.

I can't do that if I'm out of shape, so as I round the Whomping Willow, I begin an extra lap instead of retreating back to castle.

My feet begin the accustomed motion, and before I know it, my mind begins to wander off. I think back to the events of this summer. Of the tiny fissures that had appeared from the moment I got off the Hogwarts Express last June, and had quickly became large cracks over the two months.

Things at home were not good.

Both Hugo and I immediately the wall of chilliness that hung between mum and dad, and they seemed oddly curt with each other. However, nothing more was said because of the unspoken rule of general perfection in image that we were to present in public.

It was one of the only things that they both stubbornly agreed on. Sometimes, I wonder how two such completely different people could have possibly stood each other. I mean, after the initial attraction, there'd be nothing substantial to keep things together, and a split would be only in due time.

I guess that the war made people chuck aside their dissimilarities and hurry into things because of the lingering uncertainty of survival. The mortal peril that so many were in meant that time may be already ticking away, and so the rationale was perhaps spending the countdown with someone, albeit not your usual type would be better than being alone at your final moments.

Or it could have been the pressure of everybody else hooking up, and the ensuing celebratory mood that had couples forming by the dozen. It would certainly explain the unlikely pairings, like Aunt Fleur and Uncle Bill, who couldn't have been the most opposite when they first met, at least according to Nan.

However, as influence of others is highly unlikely to have swayed mum, I'd say that mistaking their friendship for something more is the most probable explanation. After all, she essentially spent all her life with Uncle Harry and dad, their efforts to defeat Voldemort not exactly leaving her time to get to know any other blokes.

Once Aunt Ginny announced she was getting married, there was suddenly a hole in the Golden Trio. Mum and dad were suddenly faced with a choice – either deal with being alone for once, or continue spending all their time together as if nothing were changed. (I would know, Psychology 101 being the current bedtime read on my night-stand) They opted for the safer and more familiar choice, and so here we were today.

In a charming country house, with my brother and I (instead of the many children that daddy wanted, one of the many things mum did _not _agree on), and two parents not speaking to each other.

Here, there was no pretending. There was only a foul mood, and uncomfortable silence. We carried on our usual summer activities in attempts to regain a sense of normalcy, but nobody could deny that something was wrong.

Dad came home date, and pissed out of his mind after picking up one late shift after another at the ministry. Mum locked herself in the library for hours at a time, as if none of this was happening. We each tried our very bests just to wait it out, as if the cutlery smashed and dad's drunken rambles that woke the neighbours were just a temporary storm.

Then one horribly humid night in the end of July, when they thought we had gone to sleep, the real squall began. _The problem is, _mum memorably shouted while threateningly pointing her wand at dad's Comet 390 (his pride and joy that he went a month without chocolate frogs for, which is a feat, if you know what he's like about them) _that you are so caught up in playing favourites with your daughter, that you can't even make time for your struggling son!_

Dad's face was bright red, looking angrier than I've ever seen him before (even the time when he found out that I'd been ranked second in my year because of a clause on pureblood estates that Malfoy had corrected on the History of Magic exam last semester).

He immediately hollered back, _Your mental instability and neurotic need for perfection isn't helping him much, either! _That obviously struck a nerve, because in a second, a jet of orange light hit the broomstick, which immediately melted into a puddle at her feet.

Not a smart move on his part. Mum's really touchy about the nightmares that she often wakes up screaming from. Something about a cruciatus curse she took back in the day of fighting for the cause.

Dad let out a surprised cry, followed by, _That was signed, and was going be Rosie's wedding present! _His comment just seemed to enrage her further, as she retreated into the library, having proved her point, and proceeded to give him the silent treatment for the next month.

It was quite a night of surprises, because when I removed my x-ray vision glasses (latest project of Uncle George entrusted for me to test out), I found a scared-looking Hugo standing at my door. The laughing boy who never took himself too seriously was not there, in his place standing my brother with a tear-stained face.

Let me just tell you now that Hugo Weasley does _not _cry. Ever. He's always so intent on being a macho man, and I guess you could say the life of the party. _It's all my fault, _he whispered before collapsing on my bed and silently sobbing all over my pillow.

Of course, it _was _all his fault, not concentrating on his studies and completely blowing his O.W.L.s. However, there was some truth what both my parents' sides. Dad (much as I hate to admit it) obviously spent much more effort and time on me, because unlike Hugo, I seemed to exhibit both the Granger academic brilliance and Quidditch enthusiasm.

It goes much farther than that, because once again, unlike Hugo, I actually care about results. A lot. Nevertheless, mum's nightmares and depression re-emerged with full force with his uneasy birth (the mediwizards weren't sure he'd survive), and so he's never been given the attention or care that I got as a kid.

So, I did the right thing, and after assuring him that he was certainly _not _the cause of our parents' current incompatibilities, sent him to bed. We made do with the last very awkward month, the first year we haven't gone on a family trip. A bummer, because I was looking forward to staying in an ice hotel and observing the fine teenage specimens of Northern Europe (I kind of have a thing for light-haired blokes, other than you know, the disgusting Malfoy).

Instead, I convinced James to illegally apparate us to the Cayman Islands. Location of Black Pearl, the largest outdoor skate park in the world; skateboarding being Hugo's most recent muggle obsession. The boy takes after his grandfather, I tell you.

Before getting on the Hogwarts Express, I took one last glance at my parents, who were still pointedly not meeting each others' eyes, and hoped that things would be patched up soon.

I wonder how things are going at home right now. Probably not very well, as neither Hugo or I had yet received any of the annoying "Take care of each other! Remember, you only have one sibling in the world" letters that I would do anything to get now. Any indication that our family won't fall apart and give the Daily Prophet anything more to fill up its blasphemous columns with.

As I indulge in the delightful thought of jabbing Rita Skeeter's eyes out with my wand (sometimes, muggle ways are most effective), I'm interrupted by a chirping sound. Glancing down at my pocketwatch, I realize that I had absentmindedly done an extra lap, leaving me exactly ten minutes to get to my Ancient Runes class.

Shit.

I sprinted at full speed back to the castle, and took the stairs two at a time. After gasping 'Eminence' at the portrait of two brainwashed ladies who looked at me with disdain (_sorry _that I'm not their usual albino eye candy), I burst into the common room. With no time for a shower, I quickly threw on my robes and grabbed my book bag.

On the way out, Malfoy (who presumably has a free period this morning, the lucky git), lounging coolly on the sofa, uncharacteristically delays me further with a "Guess I'll see you later." I can't believe he has the nerve to talk to me. He never has, and he isn't going to get away with it. I hope he doesn't think that seeing me in a dishevelled state (er, suit of armour incident), suddenly means that I'll be giving him preferential treatment.

There were no witnesses, to boot.

"No actually, you won't," I say. Ha. Got him good, didn't I? I'm not going to allow scum of his type to exchange pleasantries with me, innocent or not. Especially in his case, as I'm definitely sure that he's up to something. Evil spawn of deatheaters usually are.

I flash a triumphant smile, as I step towards the door.

"Now if you'll _excuse me, _some of us actually care about quality education."

It's only later at lunch when I'm recalling my valiant tale to Al that I realize something.

Malfoy wasn't just being his usual two-faced self. I actually _will_ be seeing him later. It's the last Friday of the month, meaning that as Head Girl, I get the _unequivocal pleasure_ of doing midnight rounds with Malfoy.

Oh joy.

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><p><em>Take a moment, and tell me what you think!<em>

_Things seem to finally be getting fun... :D_

_Carpenarem_


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